Spirits, Pies, and Alibis

by Nicole St Claire

  “I’m really sorry. How are Curtis and his mother handling all of this?” As if prompted by the question, the deep boom of a man’s voice, uttering a steady stream of curse words, bellowed from an adjacent room.

  “About how you’d expect,” Noah replied. “Audrey won’t come out of her bedroom, and between you and me, I think she’s been drinking regularly now that Uncle Doug isn’t here to stop her. Curtis has been on the phone all morning with the investigators, demanding answers. I keep telling him it’s too early and to let them do their jobs, but…”

  A door slammed, and footsteps echoed down the hall, coming closer. The next minute, Curtis Strong entered the kitchen. His hair was disheveled, but unlike the last time I’d seen him, it was clearly not an intentional choice, and his deeply creased clothing just added to his overall unkempt appearance. He barely glanced my way, plowing straight ahead to where his cousin stood.

  “I’ve had it with this island!” he fumed. “Sheriff Grady should be fired.”

  “You can’t fire a sheriff,” Noah responded with a measure of calm that was equal in intensity to Curtis’s rage. “It’s an elected position.”

  “Then I’ll pay someone to run against him! He’s got it in for the Strongs because we’re not year-rounders like he is.”

  “Curt, why don’t you take a minute, calm down, maybe say hello to Tamsyn, and then tell me what’s going on?”

  It wasn’t until Noah said my name that Curtis really seemed to notice my presence. He gave me a nod, and I answered the gesture with an awkward wave. I hadn’t entirely forgotten that I disliked him, but now was hardly the time to hold it against him.

  “I was dropping off some pies for your mom,” I told him, just in case the four dozen boxes next to me stamped with “Homemade Pie” on all four sides in bright red lettering hadn’t clued him in. “How’s she doing?”

  Curtis sighed and raked a hand through his mop of hair. “She can barely get out of bed. If she catches wind of our local idiot sheriff’s latest theory, I don’t know what’ll happen.”

  Noah cleared his throat. “I’ve gotten to know Joe Grady pretty well the past few years, and he’s not such a bad guy. Sure, he sometimes trash talks the summer folks in the bar with the rest of the locals in the off-season, but I’ve never seen him let that type of thing get in the way of doing his job.” Noah turned his attention toward me. “Since I’m the only full-time doctor on the island, I assist the state medical examiner’s office when the need arises. I’ve worked with the sheriff’s office on investigations a number of times.” He placed a calming hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “What’s he done that has you so upset?”

  Curtis’s jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared. “He had the nerve to suggest that Uncle Doug’s crash was no accident.”

  “Not an accident?” A deep crease formed in Noah’s brow. “They think someone wanted to kill him?”

  Curtis shook his head. “They wanted to know about his mental state, asked all sorts of questions about whether he’d seemed troubled or depressed.”

  “You don’t mean suicide?” Noah asked.

  “That’s exactly what they were getting at,” Curtis said, “and I’ll say again now what I told Grady on the phone. There’s no way Uncle Doug killed himself. I’m heading into town to settle this with Grady face-to-face.” Curtis strode out of the kitchen, and a few seconds later the whole house reverberated with the sound of the heavy front door being slammed. A car engine revved shortly after that, followed by the squeal of tires as Curtis carried through on his threat.

  “I’m sorry you had to see him like that,” Noah said when the sound of the car’s engine had faded into the distance.

  “It’s my fault for intruding at a time like this. It’s no wonder he’s upset. His mom, too.” I thought of Audrey on the night of the party, crumpling to the floor in her bright red dress when the sheriff delivered the news. “I hope it’s not rude of me to ask, but I couldn’t help but wonder whether your uncle and Curtis’s mom—were they involved?”

  Noah frowned and shook his head. “Like, romantically?”

  “She seems to be devastated by his death.”

  “No, they weren’t a couple, but they were close. Plus, she took over her husband, my uncle Jeremy’s, position on the Strong Corporation board of directors after he died. Speaking of that”—he hesitated, as if weighing whether to continue—“is it true that you’re an accountant?”

  I nodded, uncertain where this was going. “Yeah, until recently, anyway. Why?”

  “Well, my mother’s on the Strong Corp. board, too. She was Uncle Doug’s sister, and I told you how he was about family. She and my dad moved to Portland last year on account of some health issues she’s been having, and I have a whole box of Strong Corp. financial reports and records that I’ve been keeping for her until she’s better able to deal with them. I’ve been meaning to go through them and never did. Now that this has happened, and considering the questions the sheriff’s asking about Uncle Doug’s mental state, it occurs to me maybe I should give those a closer look and know for myself what’s been going on in the family business.”

  “I could take a look at them if you want,” I offered, though I wasn’t sure why I said it, as forensic accounting was hardly my specialty. “That is, if you don’t mind getting help from an accountant who just got fired.”

  “That would be great,” Noah said with a smile, completely ignoring the final part about me getting fired, which I’d muttered under my breath. “I’ve got the box back at my place, but I can drop by with it sometime this week.”

  “Sure,” I replied. From all the butterflies in my stomach, you’d think I had just said yes to a date. What was wrong with me? Noah had never had this effect on me before. Sure, he was mega-handsome now instead of being a dork with a terrible haircut, but was I really that shallow? Judging by the way my heart was beating in my throat, apparently I was. “I’d be happy to help.”

  “Thanks.” Noah checked his watch. “I’d better get back to the clinic. I have patients coming in this afternoon. Can I show you out?”

  I followed him back to the front door, the collapsed wagon tucked under Noah’s arm. We passed the French doors that led to the patio, and a sudden chill crept up my spine as I took in the hulking blackbird that now sat on the exact spot on the lawn where I had seen Douglas Strong standing in the pouring rain. Was it a crow? A raven? I was no bird expert. It was spooky, and that’s all that mattered. Though I tried to put it out of my mind, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that settled over me until I’d reached the other end of Pinecroft Cove.

  I hadn’t told a soul about what I thought I’d seen that night. I knew it sounded crazy, and in the upheaval that followed Sheriff Grady’s official announcement confirming the small plane carrying Douglas Strong had gone down in Penobscot Bay, I began to question whether I’d seen anything at all, even though I could recall every detail the minute I closed my eyes. But after returning from my second visit to Cliffside Manor, it was all I could think about that night. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when the troubling dreams began.

  The first several times I woke up, it was with the image fresh in my head of Douglas Strong standing on the lawn as I’d seen him that night. Rain ran down his face, drenching his clothing. He stared straight at me, unblinking and seemingly unfazed by the downpour. Each time, just as he would open his mouth to speak, I woke up, heart racing, in my bed.

  The last dream, the one I had right before waking up for good at dawn, was altogether different.

  I found myself in the middle of the living room, and while I recognized it as being the Pinecroft Inn, it was different, too. A bright green wallpaper with large pink roses covered the walls. I stood on top of a piano stool. The clicking of high heels rang in my ears but grew fainter with each step as whoever was wearing them retreated down the hall. The cloying scent of an expensive rose perfume burned my nostrils.

  There was a young woman in the room with me, her
chestnut hair styled in the type of Marcel wave that was popular in the 1920s. She kneeled by the stool, her mouth filled with pins. As I looked down, I saw I was wearing a gold silk dress, a sleeveless party dress with intricate beading. Every so often, the young woman would place a pin in the hem.

  “Thank goodness she’s gone,” I said, and the relief I felt flowed through every inch of my body like it was my lifeblood.

  “Who’s that, miss?” the woman asked, her teeth never losing their firm grip on the pins as she spoke.

  “My mother.”

  She nodded but didn’t join in my criticism, changing the subject instead. “These are the finest dresses I’ve ever seen, if you don’t mind my saying.”

  “They’re just dresses.”

  “They’re fit for royalty.”

  “She’d be so glad to hear you say it. She’s invited Lord Rochester to visit this summer from England.”

  “Must be a real swell, then, I’ll bet.”

  “I suppose, but swells aren’t really my type.”

  “Oh, but they’re mine,” she said with a giggle. “He’s rich and handsome?”

  “Rich, yes. I wouldn’t know about the handsome. I’ve never laid eyes on him. Even so, she insists I shall marry him in the fall.”

  “Jeepers creepers, what a pickle!”

  Laughter bubbled up inside me at her sincere assessment of my situation, and I found myself in sudden, desperate need of a friend. “Say, wanna sneak outside for a ciggy?”

  She hesitated, but I could see the temptation in her eyes. “I don’t know. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “I don’t give a fig about proper,” I told her, hiking up the pinned hem of my dress as I hopped off the stool.

  I padded toward the door in my stocking-clad feet. When I paused by the front door, I looked in the mirror, and the face I saw wasn’t exactly the one I’d been expecting. My skin was its usual pale, almost ghostly white, my eyes the same brilliant blue, and my hair its familiar shade of Bassett red, but it was styled in a similar fashion as what the other woman wore. There were subtle differences in the shape of my lips and chin that gave me the sensation of looking at a stranger, and I felt a tingling of electricity course through me as I realized that perhaps I wasn’t me after all. I dismissed the thought quickly, as it made me uneasy.

  I opened the front door and slipped out onto the porch, with the seamstress following a few steps behind. I pulled a cigarette and lighter from my garter. The cigarette appeared to be hand rolled, and the lighter wasn’t a modern plastic one but an old-fashioned type made of metal that was heavy in my hand. Though I’ve never been a smoker, somehow I sparked the flint like an expert, and the glow of the flame glinted off one of the links of the silver bracelet on my wrist. I placed the cigarette between my lips and took a long drag. The action seemed as natural on the one hand as it did completely foreign to me on the other, like I was two people inhabiting the same body, with all the memories and knowledge of both. “Say, do you know of any places on the island where a girl can get a drink?”

  My new friend took the cigarette from me and gave it a few puffs as she thought. “Depends. Do you like music?”

  “What type?”

  “Jazz, of course.”

  “Now, that’s the berries!” I replied, knowing it meant something good even though that, like many of the other words I’d been using, was slang I’d never heard before.

  She flashed a conspiratorial smile. “Then you’re in luck. My brother Freddy plays piano at a speakeasy down by the docks. If you can sneak out Saturday night, I’ll take you there.”

  Then she pulled out a pin and stabbed it into my left breast.

  This time when I woke, it wasn’t with a vague sense of dread, but with a heavy weight on my chest and a sharp pain concentrated just above my left nipple. I gasped for air and got a mouthful of fur instead.

  “Meow.”

  “Gus!” I gave the covers a shake and heard a loud thump as the cat jumped to the floor. “Good riddance, demon cat.”

  I stretched and closed my eyes, but my mind was racing as I tried to remember the details of the dream, only to have them slip away bit by bit before I could grasp their significance. With a sigh, I flipped my wrist over, searching for the time on my watch. Instead, I saw the silver bracelet, exactly as I had seen it in the dream. The only difference was that now, it was dulled from stubborn tarnish that none of my efforts at cleaning it could remove. With no hope left of getting more sleep, I swung my legs out of bed and vowed to search out Sybil’s shop as soon as I could to pump her for the promised jewelry-cleaning advice. I brewed a mug of tea and took it into the living room. The walls were the familiar shade of breezy white I was used to seeing, but as I sipped my tea and stared at the sturdy oak piano with its old-fashioned wooden stool, I couldn’t shake my overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

  Chapter Seven

  The Monday after the funeral was gloriously sunny and the perfect day to get out and explore. While my aunt’s rice trick had brought my phone limping back to operational status, cracked screen notwithstanding, Miss Josephine was still out of commission, so I borrowed a bicycle from the stash my aunt kept for guests. It was a three-speed style with white-rim tires, a leather seat, and a woven basket on the handlebars. I made my way downtown, walking along the brick sidewalk of Main Street as I pushed the bike, looking at each storefront until I found the one I wanted. The shop’s name, Rags to Riches, was painted across the window, but the naked mannequins on the other side of the glass were a sure indicator it wasn’t open for business just yet. A sign on the door said Closed, but when I tried the latch, it was unlocked, and a bell jingled as I walked inside.

  As I took in the tongue-in-cheek chic interior, with its oversized gilt mirrors on the walls and several leopard-print chairs shaped like high-heeled shoes near the dressing rooms, I could feel Sybil’s personality shining through. Though we hadn’t kept in touch since we were young, her presence on the island made my spirits soar. I’d had friends back in Cleveland, of course, but never the type of close relationships that stuck through thick and thin. I was still very much on the fence about the whole coven thing, but the prospect of having a best friend or two to lean on at this point in my life was very appealing. With any luck, I hoped Sybil and Cassandra might turn out to be just that, even if the supernatural aspects of our arrangement filled me with doubt.

  “Tamsyn, you found the shop.” Sybil emerged from the back room, wearing a pink, full-skirted 1950s’ party dress in a martini-glass print. She couldn’t have chosen a better outfit to match her store. Beaming with pride, she gestured around the nearly finished space. “What do you think?”

  “I love it,” I told her with a grin. “When do you open?”

  “Couple of weeks. Any news on those trunks in your attic?”

  As I recalled the contents of the trunks, an image from my dream flashed through my brain, a vivid memory of the silky feel of the gold, sleeveless dress against my skin as I wore it in my dream, and I could feel the smile fading from my face. Sybil must have seen it, too, because she clasped her hands together in front of her chest with a worried look. “Oh no! Don’t tell me Aunt Gwen changed her mind about them.”

  “No, it isn’t that. It’s just…” I paused, not sure if I should continue. Did I really want to start down this path? I sensed that if I did, there would be no turning back, yet I needed answers, or I feared I might eventually drive myself insane with questioning. “If I tell you something strange, will you promise not to think I’ve lost my mind?”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  “I had this vivid dream last Saturday night, where I was wearing one of the dresses I found in the attic and the bracelet, too. It was like I was myself, but not exactly, and I was in Aunt Gwen’s house, only it was a long time ago.” I bit my lip, knowing I wasn’t explaining it right. “The whole next day, I felt so odd, like I was having memories that weren’t my own.”

  Instead of laughing at me as I ha
d feared, Sybil ran a finger along her chin, deep in thought. “Like a past life?”

  “No, of course not. I don’t believe in that kind of thing. Do you?” It was only after I said it that I realized this was a woman who just might believe she was an honest-to-goodness witch. Why wouldn’t she believe in past lives, and who knows what else? “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Aunt Gwen’s been trying to convince me since I got here that…well, you know. And the way you were talking at the party got me wondering, do you really believe in all of this magical stuff?”

  “I’ve grown up around it my whole life, so of course, I do.” She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Don’t you?”

  I shrugged. “It sounds ridiculous, but then again, I was raised by a father and stepmother who were about as practical as they come. It’s a good thing I didn’t move there until I was a teenager, because I’m pretty sure even Santa and the tooth fairy wouldn’t have been in either one of their repertoires. Look, I understand that some people think of spells as part of their religion, like prayer, or meditation, or something. I can respect that. But I think Aunt Gwen actually believes she can turn people into toads.”

  “No, she doesn’t,” Sybil assured me with a hearty laugh.

  I laughed as well. “That’s a relief.”

  “Transformation isn’t her specialty. She’s a kitchen witch. She works magic through food.”

  My laughter trailed away as I realized it wasn’t the belief in witchcraft that Sybil was dismissing, just the example of a spell I’d given. Toads aside, it was clear there were other spells she believed my aunt Gwen could perform with ease.

  “But that’s…” I thought of the waffles she’d made me for breakfast again that morning. Just one bite of them and my entire outlook could improve in a way I’d never experienced with any type of food before. It was hard to argue that my aunt’s cooking wasn’t in some way magical. It opened up the possibility that maybe there was some part of all this I could accept on some level, as long as I didn’t have to buy into all the abracadabra mumbo jumbo that went along with it. “So, is that the kind of magic you and Cassandra are supposed to be able to do, too?”